Interference
by AzjolNerubian
Summary: Spock/McCoy. Shore leave isn't off to a good start. Spock's patience is tried. McCoy is bitten by something, which injects him with an unknown venom that removes all inhibitions. McCoy ends up completely unleashing on Spock.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Interference  
Rating: eventual R rating.  
Characters: Spock/McCoy  
Series: Star Trek TOS  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.  
A/N: Wrote this on a whim

Summary: Shore leave isn't off to a good start. Spock's patience is tried. McCoy is bitten by something, which injects him with an unknown venom that removes all inhibitions. McCoy ends up completely unleashing on Spock.

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. . . . . . . . . .

Shore leave, as Spock had discovered early on, rarely passed without incident.

They had landed on an uninhabited planet and quickly set up a makeshift camp. It was compromised of a temporary shelter, equipped several benches, tables and planet itself was tropical, dense, lush red and blue jungles, and agreeable in its temperature. It reminded Spock of Vulcan, although he had never seen such a wide range of colors before.

It didn't take long for Jim to gather the others for a meal and the ritual drinking that seemed popular during some during shore drinks were quite strong, a product of lieutenant Winson's hand, as well as Mr. Scott's expertise at the subject. It took approximately thirty four minutes for the first of the crew to show signs of being affected by it.

It was one point four hours and five minutes when they noticed their Chief Medical Officer was missing.

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. . . . . . . . . .

He hadn't been able to raise McCoy on his communicator, the jungle interfering with the reception, but his signal pointed him out as east of the camp. Spock found him standing in a clearing nearly a mile away. The man was standing in a clearing, heavily shaded from the twin suns. His back was to him. McCoy was rubbing at the base of his neck. Judging from the his body language and the way he was looking around, something had puzzled him. Spock noted the tricorder at his feet, the disturbed dirt around it and crushed plant under it, all of which established that it had landed unceremoniously and suddenly.

The Vulcan stepped into the clearing. "Doctor."

McCoy turned. He looked startled for a moment, then guilty. Spock drew close. As he did so, he saw the kit at McCoy's feet. It was used by away teams to take samples, as well as do a limited analysis on location. It wasn't something one brought on shore leave post-area check.

"You left camp," Spock said simply. It was a question left hanging.

"It was getting too hot in there," McCoy said testily. "Not everyone's ready to plant themselves down here and call it home. This planet is too damn hot."

It is an optimal temperature, Spock thought, but he also knew the doctor was attempting to bait him. His heritage had always been a cause of fascination for the human. He didn't rise to it. He considered the problem at hand. McCoy was wearing several layers, the black undershirt and the science blues, which would only make it more difficult to tolerate the heat. Beaming up to the ship was out of the equation outside of a medical emergency, until the next rotation of the planet. They hadn't had a full shore leave in months. Doctor McCoy himself had insisted on the extra measure to ensure they did. It left limited options. The only courses of action were to either locate somewhere cooler (a futile exercise, as it was eight degrees hotter out in the sun) or to remove some layers of clothing. He decided not to give that thought voice either. Spock studied the surrounding jungle, took note of the colorful avian that took flight, the foreign, yellow tipped flowers, the rippling stream to the left and then back to the doctor. He was starting to perspire.

Stubbornly, McCoy scooped up the tricorder he'd dropped and swiveled to scan a nearby herbaceous plant.

"May I remind you that the purpose of this venture is for recreation and relaxation of the crew. Yourself included."

"You aren't the only one who likes to work a little during shore leave, Mr. Spock. There's a lot of flora and fauna out here that need studying."

He was still rubbing at his neck absently. McCoy caught the pointed stare and dropped his hand.

"I swear something bit me a few minutes ago. Can you check it out? I can't see it." He craned his neck, giving the Vulcan a clear view of the nape of his neck. Spock leaned in ever so slightly. The skin looked unbroken, no raised welts or signs of an entry wound from a bite. The flesh was revealing the beginning signs of a rash, which Spock suspected was more due to McCoy than any insect.

"There is nothing there," Spock said. "I would suggest that you cease in further aggravating the area with more scratching."

McCoy gave him a dirty look.

"Please return to the camp. You do not look well." McCoy opened his mouth to protest. Spock went on before he could. "The temperature will drop a few degrees in the evening and I estimate ten to fifteen degrees further at nightfall. It will be a more tolerable range for you then. I will accompany you if you wish to continue your investigation at that time."

"I don't need a chaperone," McCoy grumbled, but looked inexplicably pleased with the compromise.

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. . . . . . . . . .

Despite his recommendation, Spock would catch McCoy scratching at his neck every now and then. In fact, he had been doing so with increased frequency every forty-eight seconds. They were less than half a mile back when McCoy halted.

"Spock..."

The Vulcan turned. McCoy wobbled on his feet and then started to go down. The Vulcan strode forward to intercept him. He was stopped by the doctor holding up a hand. His other hand was propping himself on a tree trunk. His head was down, chest heaving a little as he panted.

"I'm fine," McCoy groaned. "It's this heat."

Doctor McCoy was not one of the more rational humans Spock had ever known. Time and time again, the doctor defied his own needs, constantly overlooking his own health for others. Even when there were no patients, he expressed a stubborn insistence that he was fine, with a persistence that was remarkable. At the very least, he was dehydrating in this heat. Spock touched his shoulder, ready to support him the rest of the way back.

McCoy lifted his head. Spock caught a glimpse of something brilliant, _open _and unguarded, and for a moment, wild, in his blue eyes, right before he suddenly found himself pushed against a nearby tree. The doctor had pressed himself full length against him, as if he somehow thought he could mold himself to every part of him. He was breathing hard.

"Doctor, you are suffering from heat delirium," Spock said coolly. "You are not in your right mind."

"No it's not! When _you've_ gone to medical school, you can start making the medical calls here. I'm the doctor and I'm saying I'm not," McCoy fisted a hand in his shirt. He was staring at Spock with an openness he'd never seen before. "I'm thinking the straightest I ever have."

With that he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the Vulcan's jaw. Despite all of his training, he couldn't deny the shock that swept over him, before it was swiftly pushed aside.

The reduction in inhibition was something he often witnessed with the consumption of alcoholic based beverages. He did recall seeing McCoy try a sip of something Mr. Scott had offered.

Spock did the only logical thing. It wasn't to return the insistent kisses McCoy kept trying to press to his mouth. He didn't move to avoid them, as that would imply discomfort, and the human part of him was determined to retain his Vulcan dignity. He did his best to ignore them right now. He plucked the tricorder from the case at the doctor's hips. He flipped it open and aiming it in McCoy's general direction, turned it on. Startled, the other man looked down. He frowned.

"I'm not drunk," McCoy said emphatically. Spock ignored him and continued scanning him. "I'm _not_, dammit!" The protest sounded defensive, perhaps because Spock hadn't given any sign that he believed him. It was a strange trait inherent in emotional beings, particularly humans: this need that required others give a verbal or visual cue to reassure them of their own stance. The defensiveness was illogical as well: if McCoy were truly sober, as he claimed, then there would be no need for such a reaction. When Spock didn't show any signs of giving up on the tricorder, McCoy grumbled and then settled on grazing his teeth against the Vulcan's neck. Spock shuddered slightly despite himself. The sensation was not unpleasant.

He had to ascertain what was causing this. He was also finding it more difficult to think when McCoy worried at one of his ear lobes like that. "You are acting in a manner that is most irregular. Even for you."

"I told you, something bit me! And don't give me that nonsense that you didn't see anything, I swear I felt a prick!" The doctor was working his way up his ear. Spock swallowed. He noticed belatedly that they'd somehow slid halfway down the tree trunk. McCoy was determinedly trying to perch on his lap.

"I do not indulge in the act of making wild conjectures," Spock replied stiffly. "There is something wrong with you," he conceded anyway.

"Whatever it was, it must've stripped me of something. Modesty, common sense. Not like I've had much to begin with, willingly running after you and Jim all the time."

McCoy smiled as if he'd made a joke. Spock didn't see the humor in it. He didn't usually see the humor in much of what McCoy said.

The doctor was correct, however. There was no sign of any ethanol in his blood stream, nor was he exhibiting the signs of inebriation. McCoy's speech was not slurred, his were eyes clear and sharp, and judging from the deft fingers of one of his hands wrapped around the back of his neck, his coordination was also very much intact.

"You are not inebriated," he told him. It would be less than one point seven three four seconds before McCoy would engage in 'gloating' at being correct. "There is, however, traces of an unknown compound in your-"

"It's actually freeing," McCoy mused to the air.

Spock paused, momentarily caught off guard by the seemingly non sequitur. He stonily regarded the man on his lap. "What is, doctor?"

"This," he said vaguely. He leaned back and grinned lopsidedly at Spock. The expression was giddy.

If Spock were a human, he might have fallen into worrying. Instead he calmly closed the tricorder. This was something that would require the Enterprise's medical and research facilities. He didn't have enough data to make any solid evaluation how long this would affect the doctor. McCoy was currently toying with the shoulder seam on Spock's shirt. Spock lifted an eyebrow questioningly. "Not having to wonder if I'm about to offend someone. Not having to second guess myself," McCoy clarified. "Not worrying if I'm about to put my foot in my mouth, not having to hold back. Not that you'd know a damn thing about that."

Spock noted the sudden shift in tone. It was the only warning that the situation had suddenly become dangerous. McCoy had quickly lost that playfulness he had just been exhibiting. What was in its place was undoubtedly more familiar. Exasperation. McCoy leaned forward, finger stabbing towards his chest. His face twisted with frustration.

"You're always keeping yourself so tightly wound I'm surprised you haven't had a complete breakdown by now. You can't tell me it's any more healthier bottling everything up all the time than being far too emotional! For God's sake, there's a middle ground, and you're allowed to take it! You'd think it'd kill you to show some happiness once in a while when Uhura does something nice for you, or when Jim got you something for Christmas."

Spock didn't reply. There wasn't room to anyway. Even he could detect the hurt in McCoy's voice, something that wasn't just born from the substance affecting him.

"God_damn_ you. Goddamn you for being an insensitive, emotionless, depressing, cold blooded _Vulcan_," McCoy hissed. "And I'm just as much to blame for being fool enough to--"

McCoy decided not to even finish with his tirade. Angrily, the doctor was trying to get off Spock's lap and away from him. He found himself with his arms suddenly full of a squirming bundle of limbs, boots, and flailing arms. The position McCoy had managed to get himself in earlier was a tenuous one at best. Spock didn't know what other effects he could be suffering from that substance in his system. Letting him out of his sight was ill-advised. Spock tightened his arms around him.

"What in hell's name are you doing?! Let me go!" McCoy snapped.

"No."

McCoy renewed his struggles anyway, even though they both knew he wasn't capable of overpowering a Vulcan. He did so out of a stubbornness that Spock suspected wasn't necessarily native to humans, just McCoy.

"If I release you now, you will wander off. You would then run a very high chance of becoming lost or discovering one of the native predators."

The explanation should have mollified him. The doctor swiveled awkwardly to glare balefully at him.

"I told you, I'm thinking clearly. Maybe that's the problem, I'm thinking too clearly!"

Spock resisted pointing out that there was no such thing. "You are making rash judgments. While some inhibitions are unessential, a good many do have their basis. They can serve both to fit into social groups as well as to act as a protective survival function. And you are displaying none whatsoever."

McCoy looked like he was going to explode any moment.

"Could you stop talking logic for one damn minute?!"

"That would be illogical."

"Maybe you should've gotten stung, it'd be an improvement!" McCoy complained. To his credit, he finally gave up trying to break Spock's grip.

"Insults will not improve either of our situations, doctor."

There was a silence while McCoy considered his options.

"So what, you're going to hold me here? For how long?!"

"As long as it takes for either the substance to leave your system or for Jim to send out search parties. However, I would rather not wait for either," Spock corrected. He awkwardly reached between their bodies and drew out his communicator. He flipped it open. It blipped on.

McCoy promptly plucked it out of his hands and flung it over his shoulder. It flew it several yards behind him. It vanished through the wall of leaves. For the second time in that day, shock washed over the Vulcan, this time followed by the first hints of actual anger. McCoy was acting in a manner that was exceedingly illogical and dangerous, and if he could feel emotions, it would start to annoy him. He couldn't go retrieve it without letting the doctor go and they both knew that. For a second, Spock considered using a nerve pinch on him. There were several factors against him: his hold had to be maintained, and he didn't have the element of surprise. McCoy had seen him do it before. He had an estimated eleven percent chance of successfully using it on McCoy under these circumstances. It left no other alternative but to wait.

Spock raised his eyes and leveled an icy stare at McCoy. McCoy squared his jaw in return.

"No, we're going to get this out between us right now. You aren't going to let me leave. There's a lot I've always wanted to tell you and I'll be damned if I'm passing this chance up," McCoy said with some relish.

(TBC)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Interference  
Rating: eventual R rating.  
Characters: Spock/McCoy  
Series: Star Trek TOS  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.  
A/N: Wrote this on a whim

Summary: Shore leave isn't off to a good start. Spock's patience is tried. McCoy is bitten by something, which injects him with an unknown venom that removes all inhibitions. McCoy ends up completely unleashing on Spock.

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

_"No, we're going to get this out between us right now. You aren't going to let me leave. There's a lot I've always wanted to tell you and I'll be damned if I'm passing this chance up," McCoy said with some relish._

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. . . . . . . . . .

"Now I know you can't stand the thought of actually having an emotional episode and that's too bad, because you're getting one right now," McCoy thrust a finger hard at his chest, his expression fierce. "I should know better by now, but I'm actually pretty fond of you! I like you, a lot. You're one of the most brilliant minds I've ever seen. I _enjoy_ being around you, even when it feels like we're arguing constantly. Why do you think I'm always on the bridge?! I know you don't like getting involved with our messy, human sensibilities but I do actually consider you a friend. And so does Jim. My god. Jim would _die_ for you, you know that? You're like a brother to him. And I think you regard us as friends too, even though you always act as if that can't ever happen. You'd rather act like you just need us around to keep the ship at its optimal performance than ever admit it. Admitting we were your friends would imply that you felt some degree of affection, wouldn't it? And I think that really bothers you, because you can't even handle the thought of a benign emotion, so every time you might feel an honest to God feeling, you clam up! "

The pause was a pregnant one. McCoy had to stop to take a breath. If Spock were capable of being rendered speechless, this would have been the time to experience it. The doctor was looking at him expectantly. Spock tilted his head slightly. "What would you have me say?"

"Something. _Anything_." McCoy waved a hand in a wide arc, as he could encompass that category.

"I am a Vulcan. I cannot change that biological fact. Your insistence that I display an emotional response is something I do not understand. It will not alter anything. It will not change our current situation, which, may I remind you, is something you are partially the cause of."

"Well how the devil was I supposed to talk to you if you wanted to get Jim down here so fast!" McCoy groused. "And you don't know that. Maybe if you actually _tried _relaxing, you might find otherwise," he added stubbornly.

They both fell silent.

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Approximately five minutes passed before McCoy moved. He shifted uncomfortably in the Vulcan's lap and Spock's ears caught the barely audible moan. Spock could feel it through his body. The doctor was burning up. The twin suns were no longer overhead. The temperature had dropped two degrees now. Yet the doctor was, somehow, perspiring even more. He mumbled a halfhearted curse. McCoy squirmed. Spock tightened his grip in response, expecting another attempt at getting away. The doctor didn't try again. He was worming out of his shirt. The blue top was the first to go, followed by the black shirt. Both were tossed haphazardly nearby.

"What are you doing, doctor?" Spock asked. His eyes tracked down the bare chest, lingered despite himself, then continued on towards where the doctor's hands were busy. McCoy was trying, and failing, to unfasten his trousers. The way he was partially sprawled in Spock's lap was making it impossible.

"What's it look like? It's hot."

"Does that require the complete removal of your attire?"

"Yes."

"You are aware that doing so will not provide enough in a means of heat reduction to adapt to the current climate: you will only feel a significant drop in temperature around evening. You additionally are exposing yourself to an increased risk of burning."

"Well I felt like it," McCoy said crossly. "Now are you going to move so I can get the rest off?"

Spock obliged, shifting his hips so McCoy could lift his to an easier angle. He got the pants open and just barely past his hips, when, predictably, the doctor tried to use that slight shift to break Spock's hold. It failed. McCoy was acting irrationally, but despite that, there was a set of logic to his illogical current mindset. He irrationally was set on wandering away from Spock, despite the danger, and logically, he would try to use such an opening to do so. Spock was ready for him.

"Damn you." The doctor's head sagged, forehead pressed to Spock's neck. Spock looked down at him. McCoy's hair was messy, plastered against his forehead. His eyes closed. Spock listened carefully to his breathing, and tried to keep track of the heart beats he could feel with McCoy's chest pressed against his. He wasn't a doctor. But he knew enough of basic human anatomy and very basic medicine to know the average, acceptable heart rate. McCoy's appeared within an acceptable range, for now. Any more complex medical calls were dependent on the doctor, who was in no shape to make them.

If he was finished, he could set about to the business of getting them both back to the camp. "Was that all?" Spock asked quietly.

"No, shut up. I'm trying to think of what else I'm going to tell you," the doctor said. His eyes remained closed, as if concentrating. "There was a lot."

McCoy couldn't see it, but Spock's lips tightened, the only outward sign of annoyed impatience. Spock was finding that today was not a particularly acceptable one. He was experiencing more tendrils of emotion this one day, past hour, in fact, than he had the prior two weeks, and under these current conditions, the situation didn't look to improve. McCoy failed to realize, or perhaps, chose to ignore the evidence, that although Vulcans did not display emotions as frequently as humans, as a race, they felt emotions much more strongly and much more keenly than humans. It accounted for his race's bloody history, and ultimately why many adopted Surak's philosophy.

Vulcans were a patient race. It was a byproduct of a lifestyle that focused on logic over emotion. Without emotion, it took much longer to feel impatience. Spock was no different. And yet, he couldn't deny that he was starting to feel trace amounts of the emotion at the prospect of more hours of this.

To Spock's consternation, McCoy didn't appear content to let the quiet last for long.

"Sometimes you really get on my nerves," he began. His voice was muffled against Spock's shoulder. He lifted his head, Spock observed with some concern, as if it were more difficult to do so. Blue eyes latched onto his own. Despite the heat and substance in his system, McCoy's eyes remained clear, fully aware.

"I just don't get you. You're one of the most brilliant first officers I've ever met. But I don't get why you choose to work alongside humans when you can't even accept that you have a human half. Half the time, I wouldn't be surprised if you were trying to overcompensate and out-Vulcan other Vulcans. And yet, you'll do and say things, _nice _things when you don't have to, when it has no logical reason or benefit to do it. And then you'll just turn around and pretend like it never happened!" McCoy was working himself up into another, full blown diatribe. "I don't know why I had to get stuck liking an apathetic, stubborn, emotionally stunted Vulcan. You're as cold as they come, and I bet you'd be a lot happier with a computer than with anyo--"

Spock didn't let him finish. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the doctor's. McCoy froze. He didn't respond back immediately, but he also didn't continue the rant. He couldn't with his mouth covered. Spock pressed on, this time allowing himself to actually taste the human's mouth this time. It was markedly pleasant. Spock had only gotten a few hints earlier when McCoy had tried kissing him, but now that, he couldn't deny that he was interested in examining this more.

The kiss was a short one. McCoy looked momentarily stunned.

"Why did you do that?" The doctor's voice, compared to his earlier tirade, seemed strangely small.

"It was the only logical way, without freeing my hands, to prevent you from continuing," Spock replied.

McCoy, offended, started to open his mouth to begin anew. Spock pulled him into another kiss. The doctor resisted initially, more out of anger than anything else, than was pressing into it like a dying man. His mouth opened under Spock's.

(TBC)


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Interference  
Rating: R rating.  
Characters: Spock/McCoy  
Series: Star Trek TOS  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.  
A/N: Wrote this on a whim

Summary: Shore leave isn't off to a good start. Spock's patience is tried. McCoy is bitten by something, which injects him with an unknown venom that removes all inhibitions. McCoy ends up completely unleashing on Spock.

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

The kiss was longer than the first by three seconds. It was no less heated. McCoy's hand had stilled on where they'd been stuck on trying to push off his trousers.

"If you think I'm going to forgive you for being an obstinate, hard-headed--" McCoy started the moment they broke for air. Spock couldn't deny the pleasure at how McCoy's conviction seemed less. Spock pulled him back in, hand tightening in brown hair, cutting him off once again. Belatedly, Spock realized that he had loosened his grip on the doctor to do so. Although a marginal change, it was enough that McCoy could leave at any time. It was fortunate then, that Doctor McCoy appeared to have lost interest in trying to get away from Spock.

Instead, he was pressing a growing bulge against the Vulcan's stomach. He kissed Spock back with surprising vigor; perhaps, he hazarded, a desperation that seemed born from a long, concealed desire. Spock wondered what it would have been like without whatever that unknown chemical was. It seemed this was something the doctor had long kept hidden, and now that he was suddenly free to do so, he intended to take full advantage of it. McCoy licked at the corners of his mouth, coaxed them open before pushing his tongue past his lips. It was an unusual way to show affection, but not an unattractive one. McCoy appeared content to explore every portion of his mouth with increasing urgency.

Spock's gut twisted in response. He clamped down on the groan rising up. There was no need to. McCoy broke off with a loud moan that would have effectively covered his own reaction if it had slipped.

McCoy managed a weak, crooked grin. He looked dazed. "I take it back, you're not obstinate or hardheaded." As if to reward him, the doctor slipped his hand down. He ghosted his palm across the tented front of Spock's pants. Spock's jaw tightened in the effort to keep himself expressionless. The seeming lack of response on the Vulcan's face didn't seem to deter McCoy. He leaned forward.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. I'm not sure I even do exactly." another graze of teeth, against his collar bone. "I just remember..." he was moving to Spock's shoulder. "...back then, thinking how you looked when you told that Trelane character off. I don't think I'd ever seen you that emotional before. My god, telling something like that off?" another nip, just short of breaking skin. "But the worst was back when you saved me in that arena. You didn't have to, Spock, and I had to go pushing your buttons anyway after. A part of me was wondering what it'd be like if you'd cracked right then. You know that old story about angry make-up sex. Can you imagine going at it right then and there?"

Despite knowing the effects of the chemical so far, Spock noted that it was astonishing just how little regard McCoy had for what he was saying. There was no filter, no delay, no consideration. It was the most honesty he'd ever seen from a human being. Everything about him right now was unrestrained. Spock had usually regarded McCoy as one of the humans most prone to emotionalism and uncontrolled outbursts, that he didn't appear to censure himself very much.

He was clearly in error.

"Don't even get me started on the touch telepath business," McCoy was saying. "I always wondered just how sensitive you Vulcans are with your fingers. With the way you go about things--" McCoy brought Spock's hand up. He drew a thumb into his mouth. Spock's mouth parted. It was hot, almost excessively so, too good. The sensation blotted out all reason for that instant, a super nova going through his mind. All he could concentrate on was the movement of his tongue. McCoy would suck heavily, then swirl his tongue on the pad, then gently nip with his teeth. Spock's hips pushed up against the doctor's thighs.

The doctor gave one near bite then mercifully drew back. Spock was disconcerted to find that he was breathing hard, his length straining painfully against his uniform.

McCoy looked far too pleased with himself at the discovery. "I bet I could get you off right in the middle of a hallway doing this." As if to prove it, he drew the pad of his tongue up the length of Spock's index finger. He twitched in response. "It'd be like sucking you off right then and there and nobody would know it."

Had it been under any other circumstance, Spock would have found the words inane, unnecessary. Redundant. Giving a complete narrative of his actions was highly illogical, especially as he did possess functional eyes and he was already observing with no small amount of interest what McCoy was doing. Now he couldn't help but grow more aroused.

"_Yes_," Spock answered raggedly. He could feel himself growing harder with each second, even as his hands roamed the doctor's wiry body. His fingers dug into the slight swell of his rear, instinctively trying to control each thrust and push that would be bring more friction to his own erection.

That single, uneven word seemed to do McCoy in. He faltered.

"And then there was that time where you came in sickbay after hours...." McCoy was mumbling now. Spock could only catch a few words here and there. McCoy nuzzled his face against the crook of his neck."...wondered...right there...desk..."

The Vulcan grunted. He ground him down on his lap with a particularly hard pull at the thought. McCoy's litany had died down, into a low sequence of pants and moans that vibrated right against Spock's ear. He seemed to have forgotten, for the moment, everything else but continuing this. No matter how hard he tried to grasp at reason, tried to put that safe distance between this and himself and frame this in logic, he found he couldn't. It fluttered away from him, continued to be out of reach. Spock's single thought mirrored McCoy's. For several long minutes, they continued to move together.

He was overcome by a strange need to see McCoy. Spock opened his eyes. He didn't even remember closing them. He drew back slightly. The doctor's own eyes were closed in concentration. He was undulating against him with an almost primordial abandon. The sheer unrestrained sight of it stirred something in the Vulcan. It was something he'd spent his lifetime trying to quell. It was a powerful surge of emotions, wild and chaotic. McCoy's movements summoned up images of a time long gone but still deeply set in his race's genetic memory. It summoned up images of pon farr, teeth biting and flushed skin, faces twisted with a violence and passion that should be distasteful, but couldn't be controlled.

It struck Spock deeply. His mouth went dry. For a long moment, he could only watch speechlessly at the unintentional display, battling the rising instinct, the one that said to _take _this, claim as his own and quickly, before another could: all that mattered was mating and quelling that need.

McCoy didn't appear to notice Spock staring or the struggle within. Eyes still closed, the doctor licked his lips even as he ground himself on just about any part of Spock he could reach. Spock's skin tingled. Even with his full uniform on, and McCoy's pants in the way, he could feel every part of the doctor. McCoy would brush against his erection, Spock's stomach, and sometimes, tantalizingly, the movement would bring the doctor's posterior to graze against him. He could smell the scent, McCoy's and his, heavy in the air. It was heady, dangerous.

Spock wanted him right then and there, with an intensity that managed to disturb him.

"Doctor," he tried breathlessly.

McCoy either ignored him or didn't hear him.

"Doctor McCoy."

The man groaned but slowed. He didn't quite stop. McCoy looked questioningly at him even as he ground himself on Spock's thigh. Spock felt his own breath catch in response. It took all of his training to get the next sentence out.

"I regret that I cannot. Something has divested you of all your inhibitions," even now, all Spock wanted to do was plunge into his body, mark him. Spock swallowed. "It would not be ethically sound to continue this under these circumstances."

From the look on the doctor's face, McCoy had been expecting this. He didn't look pleased despite being correct.

"Now, Mr. Spock, you can either join me or you can watch. I'm getting off one way or another." Now he did stop moving on his lap. Spock managed to stop himself from forcing the doctor to move himself. "I blame you for this anyway."

McCoy locked eyes with him. It was a peculiar look, challenging perhaps. He wasn't even certain why he thought that last part. A flicker of movement caught Spock's eye. He looked down. The doctor slid his hand down into his open pants. He cupped and stroked himself. He stroked himself languidly, hips pushing to meet his own hand. Spock could feel the doctor watching him, even as he couldn't look away. McCoy was getting even closer to coming. He could tell from the increased pace, his breathing, the short thrusts. He was going to do so without Spock.

On that barbaric, primitive level, the one Vulcans hadn't quite managed to erase just yet, it infuriated him. It challenged that part of him he'd just suppressed.

"Spock," McCoy gasped. His hand stroked up his length, thumb rubbing hard over the head.

That was enough. Spock grasped McCoy's wrist, stopping him mid-pull, other hand gripping his chin roughly and turning him to him. He kissed him roughly.

McCoy smirked into his mouth as if he'd just won, even as Spock pushed him against the tree and dragged his pants off, before undoing his own.

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

He felt relaxed, calm. Spock straightened his uniform. Behind him, he could hear McCoy, sorely, gathering his clothes, and humming some strange, ancient Earth song, and doing so off key. Spock could hear his breathing from here. He could tell that it was still uneven. McCoy had looked, for all the world, like he'd just run twenty miles, but he looked as pleased with himself as Spock felt. Spock was not displeased about today's events.

"We have delayed longer than is necessary, Doctor," Spock said. It was positive sign when he received no argument. McCoy was not in the mood to argue whether the delay was necessary or not. "We must now return to-"

There was a thud. Spock turned around. McCoy had suddenly dropped to a heap. Spock strode over and knelt. He He pressed his fingers to the meld points on the doctor's face. The man was unconscious. Sweeping the limp man in his arms, he set off swiftly back towards the others.

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

Forty seven hours passed since Spock had returned to camp with an unconscious McCoy in his arms. Forty six point five since McCoy was taken to sickbay and the science teams sent out to track down whatever had affected him. Spock had stopped by sickbay sporadically since then, once or twice with Jim, but usually on his own. Doctor M'benga finally admitted him at the end of the forty-seventh hour. He ushered the Vulcan into the lab.

"Well, we were able to narrow down the insect out of ten different specimens," the man leaned over and drew out a clear container. He handed it to Spock. Instead was a tiny, multi-legged creature, with five limbs on each side, and faceted eyes. The wings were iridescent and jagged. He could make out tiny, cheliceral fangs on it. The insect was barely the size of a child's fingernail.

"Found some around where you found Doctor McCoy, found a whole lot more near their host plant in the valley below," M'benga explained. "They appear to be in a symbiotic relationship. You'd find it quite interesting."

Now he was handed a PADD. M'Benga touched the edge of the viewport with a stylus. The screen rippled on as Spock watched, displaying a sprawling, bloated plant with teeth. It was large, veins pulsing, and seemingly comprised of thick roots and a massive, bulbous mass tipped with purple "teeth". Every few seconds the organism would pulse, teeth twitching and revealing a bright pink, fleshy interior. Surrounding it, half hidden in the jungle foliage and rocks, were bones and flesh in varying states of decay. Spock noted what looked like a dense cloud of black and blue that appeared to shimmer above it. They had the same color as the sample in M'Benga's cylinder.

The doctor set the container down, his attention on the PADD.

"These insects are too small to take down anything on their own and the plant's not going anywhere... but that's where that relationship comes in. The insects basically fan out, sting something, then return home. You already saw what the effects were of that venom. Our tricorders picked up some pheromones in the air put out by the plant. If those remains are anything to go by, it uses it to lure the sting victim in. Since the victim's already lacking inhibitions and just about everything that goes with it, it'd be too late. Almost lost an ensign getting that bit of data by the way," M'benga looked back meaningfully at the boy lying on the bio-bed behind him. He was still asleep. Even from here, Spock could make out what looked like friction burns on his neck and shoulders. The doctor turned back, indicated the roots on the PADD screen with the pen. "The plant can use those tentacles to grab at something within ten yards for a split second, but it looks like it can only do it a few times a day before it needs more energy to do so."

Spock peered at the PADD. "The plant offers security and food, the insects travel where it can't and hunt for it. The plant gets the main portion while the insects are left with the remains."

M'benga nodded.

"Like I said, it's an interesting relationship. Not unlike ants in the _Pseudomyrmex _genus and trees from the _Aciacia _genus back on Earth. Except theoretically, these can take down pretty much anything if you're not careful."

"Fascinating," Spock said. Symbiotic systems were not confined to Earth or Vulcan, in fact, it was necessary in the survival of ecosystems throughout the galaxy, but it never failed to offer something of scientific interest to observe such a system in its natural setting. More so when there weren't sentient hands involved. He wondered how it would deter the large-bodied, immediate threat, such as a midsized or larger herbivore or omnivore. Its mutualistic relationship only solved the problem of bringing food to it, but from what Spock could tell at this time, not the problem of defense. The flexible roots would not function long enough outside of that brief window of time to do much damage. The insect's venom wouldn't act fast enough to stop such a creature from damaging it.

Had it not been for today's earlier events, he would have liked to study it thoroughly. He handed the PADD to M'Benga.

The doctor took the offered slate back. He tucked it under his arm. "The good news is the damage isn't permanent. I'd say a full recovery in two-three days and Leonard'll be back to normal. Tell me, how did you know to to force the compound by sweating him out?" he asked.

The Vulcan didn't quite frown. "Explain."

"He got hit with two of those things, so he got a double dose. Eventually Leonard would've been drawn right to that plant if it weren't for you. Even if he was sweating from the heat alone, it would've been too slow. You helped his body purge most of it early before it was too late. "

"I see," Spock said neutrally. The lack of clarification from the first officer, one that bordered on evasiveness, seemed to trigger something: the doctor was studying him carefully. Spock returned the scrutiny impassively.

"Well, whatever you did, it worked."

Again, M'benga scrutinized him, as if Spock would now be forced to give _some _explanation.

"Is he conscious, Doctor?" Spock asked simply.

"Just regained consciousness a few minutes ago," M'benga shrugged. "You can see him if you want but he's in a pretty foul mood."

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

McCoy looked miserable, for lack of a better word. The look soured even more, peculiarly enough, when he caught sight of Spock coming in. He tried to turn over away from Spock, but was stopped by the sensors and wires attached to him. He swore quietly at them and rolled once more onto his back.

"You are the last person I want to see right now," he groaned. He threw an arm over his eyes, as if by blocking Spock from his vision, he would vanish. Strange. Spock took his place at the side of the bed anyway.

"It appears you are still suffering some lingering traces of the compound." Spock said lightly.

"Did you just try to tell a joke?" McCoy said around his arm. "It wasn't funny."

"I never 'joke', Doctor."

"No, of course not."

The doctor fell silent. It was strange. Just hours ago, McCoy had been spilling everything, all his anger and frustrations, and then writhing under Spock as he thrust into his body, all with the same honesty only a mind meld would have gotten. Now he was closed once more, and after earlier, Spock felt it keenly. He would not have noticed it earlier. Now he would either have to wait for McCoy to either broach the subject or for the man to dismiss him. He wouldn't push the issue.

McCoy was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry."

"Your response is not logical. Getting stung was not your doing."

The doctor dropped his arm from his face and looked up at Spock. There was frustration his face, regret, but then something else. Guilt. "Well I'm sorry anyway, dammit! My god, what I said to you? I ripped right into you, you just took it, and you can't tell me none of that struck home. It was uncalled for. I know it doesn't mean a damn thing to you, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for most of what I said!"

He was correct. It wasn't rational, but some small part of him had felt the impact of McCoy's words. It was distasteful to admit to such a thing, but he was aware that some of what McCoy had said had fueled the anger he'd allowed himself to show down there. It hadn't just been due to trying to counter their situation or McCoy throwing the communicator. Even if the doctor had been affected by that venom, Spock was very much aware of the fact that it didn't put the words into his mouth. They had been there all along. All the venom had accomplished was dropping that barrier that previously stopped them before coming out.

Spock lifted an eyebrow, and somewhat coldly; "'Most', doctor?"

McCoy looked embarassed, as if caught out in the open, then resigned. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well I don't think the rest is any secret anymore," he said gruffly. He went on, defensively. "I don't have to apologize for liking you, just maybe for fact that I have bad taste! Just that it went down the way it did. It feels like I forced you into it."

"I must remind you that it would be impossible for you to force me physically into anything. I am a Vulcan. You would need to gain a minimium of three times your body mass to approach a means to counter my own strength. You were never in any position to force me."

The doctor didn't look comforted by the hard facts as he'd laid them out before him. He looked annoyed.

"Well, I'm surprised you didn't just snap me in half once I started running my mouth off," he muttered. "I'll be damned if I didn't deserve it."

Vulcans did not gain any pleasure in violence, even when it was necessary. In this situation, force would not have solved anything and the loss of their CMO would have impacted the performance of the ship. Spock kept that to himself. McCoy seemed intent on disparaging himself. It wasn't logical, and he could see no use in indulging in it. He tried a different tactic.

"I've noticed humans have a need to dwell extensively on the past and shoulder burdens that are either not theirs to bear, or even if they were involved in some way, take on the burden that will yield no positive result in doing so. It appears even more prevalent when the present and future cannot be impacted by such a compulsion," Spock said. He added. "I find it puzzling. I will admit, however, that what occurred planetside was not how I had imagined our initial coupling happening."

"That's not _even _the poi ---wait, what did you say?" McCoy was giving him a strange look.

Perhaps McCoy was suffering some additional, unknown side effects from the ordeal. It seemed to have caused temporary hearing loss. He would have to make note of it to Doctor M'benga.

"What happened back on the planet was not how I had imagined such a bonding between us happening, either the circumstances or the locale," Spock repeated patiently. "It was... unexpected."

McCoy was sitting up, making a mess of the wires and sensors. The guilt and regret was quickly being pushed downwards, replaced by aggravation. "You mean to tell me that you've thought about _us_... and you _didn't think to say a damned word the entire time_?!" he exclaimed.

_Perhaps the insect's toxin did not have nearly as great an influence as we thought_, thought Spock with a bare trace of displeasure. McCoy certainly didn't appear to hold back nearly as much as much as Spock had just thought, even without the presence of the venom. The readouts he'd seen had pointed to the chemical stripping all inhibitions, but McCoy wasn't doing nearly as much to restrain his mouth.

"No. I could not find an appropriate time or place to indicate my interest," Spock said stiffly. "May I remind you, doctor, that you didn't do think to do same either, despite clearly harboring these feelings for some time."

They stared at each other, McCoy regarding him angrily, Spock returning it with a carefully controlled look of stony disinterest. McCoy finally cracked a lame grin. "Look at us, already back to going at each other's throats." He still looked troubled. Spock could easily trace the reasons for it. McCoy had been inhumanly open about himself earlier, while he had no way of ascertaining the same about Spock.

"The overall experience was not unpleasant," Spock said. "I would not, doctor, be adverse to pursuing such an experience at later date. Under different conditions, of course."

"I could think of a lot better words for it," McCoy said, but that last stubborn vestige of guilt slowly drained from him.

(END)


End file.
